


I Will Make You Hurt

by snowblowingoverafieldofdeath



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-06 17:35:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowblowingoverafieldofdeath/pseuds/snowblowingoverafieldofdeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the visit to Winterfell, King Robert takes a liking to Jon Snow and orders Ned Stark to bring the boy to King's Landing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eddard

“The King and Queen are going to be visiting here?”

Ned Stark laughed quietly at the expression on Sansa's face. It couldn't be helped; his eleven year old daughter looked so excited. He glanced around the table quickly at his other children; with the exception of seven year old Bran, who dreamed of becoming a knight of the Kingsguard, none of his other children looked particularly thrilled. Nine year old Arya simply looked bored while fourteen year old Robb, Ned's heir, actually groaned loudly. Little Rickon, only three years old, didn't seem to realize what was going on. His ward, nineteen year old Theon Greyjoy, had his usual smile on his face. And fourteen year old Jon Snow just looked disgruntled, as usual.

Ned turned to his beautiful wife, Catelyn; the poor woman looked harried. He didn't blame her, the King hadn't left them much time to prepare for the visit.

“Yes,” he replied with a smile, turning his attention back to his children. “The King and Queen, along with their children and retainers, shall be here within a fortnight. I want you all to be on your best behaviour, is that understood?” The last comment had been directed at Arya, his little troublemaker. “We don't need any problems during the royal visit.”

Arya stuck her tongue out petulantly but nodded nevertheless.

Ned watched as the children stood and slowly started to make their way out of the great hall, struck by how quickly they all seemed to be growing up. He sighed deeply, not looking forward to this last task, and glanced at Catelyn before calling out, “Jon! Hold back a moment please.”

He watched as the youth paused and looked back at him in confusion before urging the others to go on ahead, making his way back to the table.

Ned ignored the poorly hidden smug expression on his wife's face as his son approached hesitantly; he knew that Catelyn would have gladly done this task herself with joy. There was no love lost between his wife and his bastard son. He knew she felt shame that he had brought Jon back from Robert's Rebellion to live with them at Winterfell instead of leaving the boy with his mother. Ned couldn't have done that in any case; Jon's mother had died giving birth to him. He hadn't been about to just abandon the child to face the elements, Jon was his child and he had promised to take care of him. Ned also realized that Catelyn was angered by the simple fact that Jon looked more like a Stark, more like him, than any of the trueborn sons she had bore him.

Ned sighed deeply once again as Jon came to a halt in front of him, a questioning look on the youthful face. He didn't want to do this. “Jon, for the duration of the royal visit, it may be best if you were to stay out of sight.”

He felt a pang in his chest as he watched his son's face change from confused to hurt. Not that he could blame the boy; he had never hidden Jon away from guests before now.

“Did I do something wrong, father?” Jon sounded very much like the child he still was at that moment, and not the man grown he seemed to be at all the other times. It just made the pang in Ned's chest worsen.

“No,” he hurriedly tried to reassure his son, still ignoring his wife's smug expression. At least she knew to be quiet now. “Of course you didn't. It's . . . too complicated to explain properly. This is just what's best, for everyone.”

Jon shot a quick, nervous glance at Catelyn before dragging his gaze back to Ned, his expression changing from hurt to anger. He gave a quick, jerky bow as he said, “As you wish, my lord.”

Ned hated hearing his son addressing him in such a formal manner, but maybe this would also be for the best. Let Jon think that he was ashamed of him; Ned would explain the true reason after the King and his family had left Winterfell.

Ned watched sadly as Jon stalked away in anger, running his hand through his dark hair tiredly. “Don't look that way,” he growled quietly to Catelyn.

“It's time for him to learn his place in life, Ned,” Catelyn reasoned, much too calmly for the man's liking. “You cannot keep treating him as though he is equal to the other children. He will become a man grown expecting much more than what he will get.”

You have seen to it that he won't, Ned thought silently, his eyes narrowing dangerously at his wife. Out loud, though, he only said in a deep warning tone, “He may not have my name, but he has my blood. Jon is equal to the other children in my eyes.”

Catelyn knew that tone of voice and knew that it would be for the best if she said no more on the subject for now. Ned was glad for it; he didn't want to have to try and explain to his wife the true reason as to why he didn't want his bastard son in the sight of the royal family. Besides the obvious detail that the Lannisters would never allow a bastard to mix with them, Ned wanted to keep Jon away from King Robert Baratheon. He prayed to the gods that his worries were unfounded; he didn't want to think his best friend capable of harming a child. But until his prayers were answered, he would do his best to keep his oldest friend away from his son.

There was a time long ago, while Ned and Robert had both been fostered at the Eyrie; a time before Robert Baratheon had ever lain eyes on Lyanna Stark. Ned and Robert had been very close, closer than was probably appropriate. Sometimes Ned had wondered whether their adventures had been more than just boyhood mischief to Robert. But then the moment that Robert had seen his sister for the first time Ned had been forgotten, and their bond had changed to brothers. It was what was for the best.

But now Lyanna was gone and had been for many years, Robert was stuck in a loveless marriage to Cersei Lannister, and Ned . . . Ned acted as though he had forgotten those stolen moments with Robert at the Eyrie. If the King, so starved for love, happened to see a boy who looked like a young Ned . . . Would he be able to stop himself?

Ned prayed that he was horribly mistaken.

“We have many preparations to see to,” he said to Catelyn, standing swiftly and helping his lady to her feet. “We have much to do before Robert arrives.”


	2. Arya

Arya Stark was hiding from Septa Mordane, creeping silently through the stone halls of Winterfell to avoid being caught. She was avoiding her lessons on needlework; she knew that her stitches would be crooked and that Septa Mordane would just make her redo the stitches over and over again. Nymeria, her direwolf pup, trotted along beside her, tail wagging rapidly and pink tongue lolling out of her mouth at the prospect of an adventure. Arya decided to go watch the boys practicing in the court yard. There was a window in the covered bridge between the armory and the Great Keep where she could have a view of the whole yard; that's where she decided to head now.

When she arrived, she was slightly disappointed to see Jon already sitting on the window sill. She would never admit it out loud, but Jon was her favorite brother. Her favorite sibling. He never treated her as though she were only a girl, only a child. He let her tag along with him, even sparred with her on occasion. Unlike her oldest sibling Robb, and the older boy Theon Greyjoy. And Jon never talked down to her like Sansa did. Jon treated her as an equal. She thought it was horrible the way everyone else treated him just because he was a bastard, especially her mother. They even looked more alike than any of her other siblings; all the others had the Tully coloring and hair, but she and Jon looked more like their father. She was only disappointed that he was sitting here because that meant she wouldn't be able to watch him sparring with Robb and Theon Greyjoy. She always cheered for Jon to win his matches.

Arya paused a few feet away, studying Jon for a long moment. Her brother looked upset about something, scowling down at the court yard from where the sounds of clashing swords rose up. He held his own direwolf pup, the pure white and silent Ghost, close to his chest. Arya could practically feel the anger radiating off of him and she frowned, wondering what could be wrong.

“Jon?” she spoke quietly, cautiously stepping closer to the boy who was sitting in front of her.

She saw Jon jump a little before slowly turning to face her. “Shouldn't you be doing your needlework, little sister?” His lips quirked up into a small, affectionate smile.

Arya giggled and moved right up to the window, both of them looking down into the court yard below. Robb and Theon Greyjoy were sparring with each other. “I'm avoiding Septa Mordane. Why aren't you down there, practicing with Robb?”

She regretted asking as Jon's face darkened; their moment of joy was over already.

“I am practicing.” Even Jon's voice was dark. “I'm practicing staying out of sight for when the King visits.”

“I don't understand,” Arya replied with a frown. “When would you need to stay out of sight?”

Jon sighed deeply, the anger written on his face draining away to leave only sorrow. It hurt Arya deeply to see it. “Father said that it would be for the best.”

Arya couldn't, wouldn't, believe that their father would tell Jon something like that! Possibly her mother would, but certainly not their father! “But why?”

Jon laughed quietly, the harsh, sad sound sending shivers down Arya's back. “Why do you think, little sister? He is ashamed of his bastard child. What other reason could there be?”

Arya could only stare at Jon in shock, unable to believe that he would even think something so horrible as that. “I'm sure that's not true, brother-”

“The King is his best friend,” Jon interrupted quietly but firmly, staring down unseeing at the court yard. “And according to the talk in the yards, the King himself has a dozen bastards of his own. Yet Father doesn't want the Royal family to see me. What other reason could there be?”

Arya's frown deepened as she listened to her brother speak. She hated it when he talked like this, like he wasn't good enough to be a part of their family. “Maybe it's not the King he wants to hide you from,” she suggested hopefully, desperate to try and make Jon feel better. “I hear the people talking in the yard too. I hear that the Queen's family is really . . . proper. Father probably just doesn't want you to be faced with their cruelty.”

Jon slowly turned his head to look at his sister with wide eyes, before laughing quietly again. This time the sound was more natural and Arya sighed in relief. At least that dark and depressed expression had disappeared off of his face. She grinned again and punched him playfully on the shoulder. He snorted back and messed up her already messy hair affectionately.

“Thank you, little sister,” he said quietly as he climbed off the window sill and set his direwolf on the ground. “I'd better get down there; Robb is probably wondering where I am. He's losing to Theon pretty badly.”

Arya watched him walk away swiftly, proud that she was able to make her brother feel better. She watched until he turned the corner then hopped onto the window sill to watch the boys practice. She grinned happily as Jon came into the court yard and Robb rushed over to their brother, waving one of their wooden swords around in the air. 

She hoped that everything was back to normal.


	3. Jaime

Winterfell; the ancient home of the noble Starks and the castle of the North. Cold grey stone, looming towers, snow. Oh gods, the snow. Even in the summer it snowed in the North. Ser Jaime Lannister was not impressed; he much preferred Casterly Rock, the family home of the Lannister house. He would even prefer King's Landing to this gods forsaken cold, stone, frozen hell. He had never before come this far North; as a member of the elite Kingsguard, he stayed with the King. There had never really been a good reason for him to come so far North anyway since he knew that the Lord Eddard Stark mistrusted him.

Ever since Jaime had slain the Mad King Aerys Targaryen during Robert's Rebellion, when Eddard Stark had ridden into the throne room at the Red Keep and had seen him sitting upon the Iron Throne covered in the Royal's blood, the lord seemed to think he was plotting to seize the throne. To be fair, Jaime knew that he had a reputation; he knew that he was called the Kingslayer behind his back. He embraced that name though, as it made him a legend. The only reason that it was spoken with scorn now was because he had been a member of Aerys Targaryen's Kingsguard then, too: sworn to protect the King above all else. And Jaime, the youngest member of the Kingsguard ever, had literally stabbed the Mad King in the back.

Someone had to do it. If it hadn't have been him, it would have been someone else.

But Ned Stark had never forgiven Jaime; nor had he forgotten. Lord Stark would always mistrust the Kingslayer, suspecting some nefarious plot to take over the throne. Jaime couldn't care less about being on the throne, though; ruling over the seven kingdoms seemed like such a bore. He knew that King Robert absolutely loathed the day-to-days aspects of being a ruler: listening to the complaints and requests of his subjects and passing judgement on the petty squabbles of the kingdom. Jaime much preferred the excitement of being a knight; even the vows he had taken to become a member of the Kingsguard were better than having to rule.

Besides, there was only one woman whom Jaime would ever love.

Finally the King and his retinue reach the cold, desolate castle, passing through the front gates on horseback. The entire population of the castle was assembled to greet them. Jaime could almost laugh at the sight of all the fur-clad people standing at attention; they all looked like the direwolves that were their House sigil standing on their hind legs. He did smile at the thought, though. He allowed his gaze to roam over each person discreetly as the formalities were sorted out. There was Eddard Stark, the lord of Winterfell, standing at the front; tall, stern, easily recognizable and as cold as the land in which he lived. The man had barely changed since the last time that Jaime had seen him, except possibly to grow even more stern and cold. The woman beside him had to be his wife, Lady Catelyn of the House Tully. The auburn hair was the giveaway. She was just as stern and cold as her husband. Their children all seemed to have the Tully features as well, except the younger girl who had the Stark look about her. 

Jaime's eyes passed over the knights and retainers in disinterest, dismissing them as unimportant. The serving wenches and maids held no interest for him either. His disinterested gaze gave one more bored sweep over the crowd before coming to a surprised halt on a figure that seemed to be hiding in the shadows at the very back. The young man, only a boy really, was the spitting image of a young Ned Stark; dark and cold, and much too stern for a boy of his apparent age. Jaime knew who it must be, the one stain on Ned Stark's perfect honour: the bastard son.

He stared at the boy curiously; not even King Robert, who was Ned's closest friend, was said to know who the woman was that had been able to cause the honourable Lord Stark to forsake his marriage vows. It was almost unbelievable. But the evidence of such a feat was right there in front of him, tall and straight and cold, looking more the Stark than any of the trueborn sons. Jaime couldn't hold back an amused chuckle; that fact must make Lady Catelyn angry.

Jaime continued to watch the boy discreetly as the King and Lord Stark headed towards the crypts, completely ignoring his sister's request to rest. Even at this distance he could see that the boy seemed to be angry, probably at being shoved to the back as befitted his station in life. Jaime had heard tellings of how Eddard Stark treated his bastard as though he were a trueborn. Jaime continued to watch, until the crowd started to disperse and the boy disappeared among the shadows.

He moved across the courtyard easily, a playful smile on his face, to stand beside the fuming queen. “Let him pay his respects to his dead love,” he murmured cautiously, eyes sweeping over the crowd once more to be sure that they were not receiving any undue interest. “You are the one whom is sharing his bed at the end of the night, dearest sister.”

Cersei huffed indignantly and whirled on him, the anger written on her beautiful face plain for the entire world to see. “That does not matter to these people, brother,” she hissed venomously before stalking towards the castle. Jaime followed her in silence. “For him to do this undermines my authority; my authority as the queen, my authority as his wife, and my authority as the mother of his heirs. He just humiliated me in front of these people!”

“Calm yourself,” Jaime cautioned quietly, keeping the smile on his face for anyone they might pass as they sped through the cold halls of Winterfell. “You're causing a scene, which will only humiliate you further.”

His sister huffed one last time then slowed her pace, the anger draining out of her beautiful face to be replaced with a demure smile. Jaime smirked as he followed her into her empty chambers. With one last glance around, he shut the heavy wooden door behind himself and bolted it.

Cersei whirled on her twin brother again, the smile dropping off of her face immediately. “What do you think you're doing?”

Jaime's smirk widened; without speaking a word he just reached over and gripped his sister's slender wrist and pulled her towards him. Of course she put up a fight. She always did. He always won. 

“Not here, Jaime,” she growled, splaying one slender hand across his gold chest plate and attempting to push him away. “Someone might come in!”

“The door is bolted shut,” he replied easily, winding his free arm around his beautiful twin's waist. “As well, your husband is bound to be in the crypts for a while and the children are getting acquainted with the Starks. We are alone for now, sweet sister. I suggest we make the most of it.”

Cersei finally succumbed, like he knew she would, winding her arms around his neck and gazing lovingly up into his green eyes, identical to her own. “Then make the most of it we shall,” she whispered before his lips descended on her own.

They knew that they had to be quick; there were any number of things that could interrupt them. He pushed her back on to her bed, climbing on top of her swiftly. They didn't bother to undress fully, he just hiked up her voluminous skirts around her waist while she pulled open his breeches. Without pause he thrust into the tight heat, covering her mouth once again with his own to muffle her cries and moans. It had been over a month since their last coupling and both were rather desperate and needy. Neither of them took long to finish; just a few hard, rough thrusts, and then he was spilling his seed inside her.

Jaime pulled away with a smirk, quickly adjusting his clothing so that they were once again in order. He bowed low to his sated sister still on the bed. “My Queen,” he murmured softly, pressing one last loving kiss to her lips before rising once more to his feet.

He left her chambers then, knowing that his absence had probably already been noted. He made sure to close the heavy wooden door behind himself and started down the long hall in silence, musing over another wonderful coupling. They were both aware that should their affair ever be discovered, it would mean the end of them, so they were very careful. He would never give her up though. Cersei was his love; as they were twins, they knew each other like no one else could.

Jaime had just turned the corner when he stopped suddenly, frozen by the sight presented to him. The bastard boy and Catelyn Stark were standing a few feet away from him, a pure white beast that appeared to be a wolf pup pressing protectively against the boy's legs. Luckily they hadn't noticed him, so he slipped silently back around the corner to listen in.

Perhaps I am not the only one involved in a forbidden affair, he thought with a small smirk, leaning back against the stone wall casually.

“Father told me to stay out of sight,” he heard the boy say in a low tone, anger barely concealed. “And that's what I'm doing. I didn't think that there would be anyone in this part of the castle now.”

Unfortunately, it didn't sound like they were having an affair; that would have been scandalous. And more fun.

“Lord Stark-” Jaime couldn't help but notice how Lady Stark emphasized those words, “-told you to stay out of sight, not wander around the halls near to where the Royal family will be staying!”

“I'm sorry, Lady Stark.” The boy's voice sounded strained as though he were trying not to lose his temper. “Where would you have me go?”

“Go stay in your own chambers.” The woman's voice was cold. “No one will be forced to see you there.”

Jaime heard the rustle of skirts and light footsteps heading in the opposite direction; he assumed that Lady Catelyn had stormed off. No, Catelyn Stark was too much of a lady to storm off. She would most likely retreat gracefully at a swift pace. He chuckled lightly, even that small noise sounding loud in the quiet of these stone walls.

“Who's there?” The boy didn't sound frightened, merely cautious. “Show yourself, or I will send my direwolf after you.”

The threat just caused Jaime to laugh out loud as he pushed himself away from the wall and stepped around the corner. “Is that what that beast is? A direwolf? It's rather small, don't you think?”

The boy's glower was almost threatening. “He's still young; he'll be huge when he's full grown. Already he's bigger than the others.”

“Others? There are more of these beasts around?” Jaime asked curiously, sauntering slowly closer to the pair and ignoring the wolf's growling.

“Each of the Stark children received one.”

“Ah, but you are not a Stark child.” Jaime smirked as a light, angry flush colored the boy's face. “So the Lord Stark will include you among his own when presenting gifts of his House sigil to his children, but not when his oldest and dearest boyhood friend visits. How sad for you.” His smirk widened as the boy bristled with obvious anger. “What is your name, bastard?”

For a tense moment, Jaime thought that the boy would refuse to answer, such was his anger. The boy's posture was rigid as he finally replied, “Jon Snow, ser.”

Jaime passed the boy by, chuckling once more. “Well, Jon Snow, I suggest you head to your chambers now, before a member of the Royal family catches sight of you and takes offense. That would shame your lord father.”

He wasn't sure if the growl that followed him down the hall came from the wolf or the boy.


	4. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm sorry about the delay in posting this chapter. I have this story also posted on FF.net, and I received a really harsh review that was insulting and hurtful towards me as a person, rather than the work, and I lost all my steam for this story. I am trying to get it back, but I will continue to post the few chapters I do have written here. Thank you for bearing with me. 
> 
> An extra note, there is explicit NONCONSENSUAL SEX in this chapter.

It's not fair, Jon Snow thought angrily, stalking through the empty stables of Winterfell in search of Ghost. His direwolf, while usually so obedient, had disappeared from his room. As Ghost seemed to be the only living thing he was allowed to be around at the current time, he was a little desperate to find is pet. He wouldn't admit it, but he was a little glad that Ghost had escaped; he himself had been starting to go a little stir crazy being locked up in his room alone. At least now if he were to be caught by Lady Stark, he had a good reason to be wandering about the grounds. She would most likely approve of him trying to keep his pet out of sight as well, as she hated the direwolves. There wasn't really much danger of being caught, though; everyone would be attending the welcome feast for the king. It was a really lavish affair that had already been going on for hours. Lady Stark would more likely be in bed than not. And he probably could have attended the feast if he had wanted to, as long as he sat at the back of the dining hall. But it still wasn't fair that he had to hide completely.

Jon didn't understand why his father would want to hide him away from the king. It was almost assured that Robert Baratheon already knew about Ned Stark's bastard son, so it wasn't as though it would shame his father. Besides, the maids spoke of how the king had fathered over a dozen bastards of his own. Jon was inclined to believe Arya's theory, that it was because of the Lannisters that he was to stay hidden away. But even that idea had its flaws, for the Lannisters already knew of him (as evidenced during his run in with Ser Jaime Lannister earlier). He just couldn't understand then, why his father would suddenly wish to hide him away.

It wasn't fair.

He knew he shouldn't be expecting so much; he was incredibly lucky that his father acknowledged him at all and took him in to raise among the trueborn. It just . . . hurt that his father seemed able to shove him to the side so easily. Actually, it hurt that his father apparently felt shamed enough to hide him away. Jon hated to think that his mere presence caused his father shame. It was times like these that Jon wished he could just leave. Maybe he could go to the Wall, where even a bastard could find honour and make a name for himself.

Jon had talked to Uncle Benjen, his father's younger brother, about it. Going to the Wall to serve the Night's Watch, taking the Black. It was a dream of his, a dream to make a name for himself. Uncle Benjen was the first Ranger of the Night's Watch; Jon could go North with him. But his uncle had refused, claiming that Jon was too young to join and that he should experience life more before taking those vows.

So Jon was trapped at Winterfell, where he didn't truly belong and he didn't think he was truly wanted.

The door to the stable suddenly slammed open and a large silhouette appeared in the moonlit entrance. Jon froze briefly in the middle of the main hall before throwing himself into the nearest empty stall. He landed with a soft thump in the hay, holding his breath and hoping whoever it was would leave soon.

“Who's there?” The voice that called out was loud and slurred; the man was obviously drunk. The voice was familiar though, and Jon had a sinking suspicion he knew who it was. Still he remained silent, praying to the gods that the man would give up and go away.

“I already saw you! I, your king, command you to reveal yourself!”

Jon bit his lip and pressed back against the hay as the king's heavy footsteps neared his hiding place. He stayed silent, hoping that he wouldn't get in trouble; either for ignoring an order from his king or for being seen by the king.

The footsteps came to a stop right outside the stall he was hidden in. “Are you some kind of craven? I saw you flee in there! Reveal yourself now!”

Jon held his breath, his heart beating wildly. He was not craven; he just didn't want to shame his father even more by being caught by a member of the Royal family. Again. But would ignoring a direct order from his king shame his father even more than being caught? He had just decided to reveal himself and face whatever punishment his father saw fit, when the opening to the stall was suddenly filled with the shape of the king.

Jon froze, his eyes wide.

Robert Baratheon was a very intimidating man, even if he had gotten fat. But the intimidating factor was somewhat lessened when the man was swaying with drink, a surprised and confused expression on his face.

“By the gods, Ned! You look so young, like a boy!” The king's voice was still booming, but now it was more affectionate than threatening. “Just as when we were children.”

It took Jon a moment to realize that the king was speaking to him; the man must really be drunk to mistake him for his father. “Your Grace,” he replied lowly, falling to one knee before the king. “I'm not Ned Stark-”

“Who else would you be?!” the king roared, stumbling closer to him. Jon winced as thick fingers wound into his hair and forced his head up roughly. “You look exactly like Ned!”

Jon could only stare up at the man, his head held in place by the king's strong hand. “I'm his son-”

“I met his children,” the king growled darkly, throwing the boy back down onto the hay. “You have to be Ned; you can only be Ned!”

Jon slowly climbed to his feet, keeping his eyes on the man warily. “I'm his bastard son, Jon Snow,” he replied carefully, embarrassment coloring his cheeks slightly. “Lord Stark is my father.”

The king looked even more confused before suddenly lurching forward. Jon grunted softly as his back hit the stone wall painfully. The considerable weight of the man was pinning him flat against the cold wall; he didn't know if he should try to try to push the king away. He could smell the drink on the king's breath, the man's mouth uncomfortably close to his own.

“I've missed this Ned: the young and more relaxed one.” It didn't seem like the king was actually listening to a word that Jon was saying. “Remember the fun we had together in the Eryie? Remember the adventures?”

Jon started to panic as the king pressed against him more, lips and beard brushing against his cheek. He was unsure of where this was leading to, and he was very confused. Then the king shifted and Jon felt something hard press against his hip.

He froze completely under the man, hardly even daring to breathe. “Your Grace,” he said slowly, quietly, trying to press himself even farther back against the wall away from the man. “I am not Lord Stark. I am his bastard son, Jon Snow.”

The king didn't even acknowledge his words. “I miss those old times, Ned. Before everything was so complicated and boring. We had fun together, didn't we?” He shifted again, causing his groin to brush against Jon's; Jon flinched back, but there was nowhere for him to escape to. “My life is so dull now, Ned. My wife can barely stand me and the wenches . . . The wenches are nothing. I miss you.”

“Please Your Grace.” Jon fought to keep the rising panic out of his voice. “Please, I am not Ned Stark. I am his son.”

The king continued to ignore his words, and instead he started to move his hips steadily against Jon's. Dry, chapped lips found his neck, pressing wet kisses to his skin. Large, strong hands came up to grasp his narrow hips in a bruising grip. Jon closed his eyes tightly, desperately wishing that he was only dreaming that the king of the seven kingdoms was rutting against him roughly. He brought his hands up to push at the king's broad shoulders with all his strength, but the man was just too heavy.

“Please, Your Grace,” he said again, the panic and fear coming through in his voice. “Please stop!”

The king's hands gripped Jon's hips tighter and slammed the boy's whole body back against the wall roughly, forcing a pained gasp out of Jon's throat. “How dare you try to refuse me, I am your king!” He slammed the boy against the wall of the stable again. Then his grip loosened and the man started to gently stroke Jon's hips. “I'm sorry, Ned. But remember how much fun we used to have together? We could have fun again.”

Jon shook his head frantically, the panic rising inside of him even more when he felt thick fingers tugging clumsily on the laces of his breeches. Still, the man was his king. He could, by law, take anything he wanted from him. But Jon really didn't want to give the king his virginity. He could feel tears burning in his eyes as the rough hands pushed his breeches down, exposing his completely to the king.

“Stop,” he tried again, pushing harder against the man's strong shoulders. He still couldn't budge the man. Still the man refused to listen to his words.

“You're bigger than I remember,” the king murmured into Jon's ear, wrapping one hand around his length. Jon let out a quiet gasp as he felt himself start to harden under the man's attentions. “Ahh, to be young again,” the king laughed lowly as he stroked the boy to full hardness.

Jon could feel his face reddening as another gasp slipped past his lips. No one besides himself had ever touched him like this. It felt different; pleasure was coursing through his entire body even though he didn't want this man touching him. Even the shame he felt at having another man touching him like this wasn't enough to cut through the pleasure that the king was forcing on his body.

“Stop!” Jon gasped once more, even as his hips moved unbidden into the king's hand. He wondered for a brief moment how many girls had been taken by the king while he was drunk, begging him to stop. It was a horrible, cruel thought, but Jon couldn't help but wonder when he himself was being pressed against a wall.

The king started to move his hand faster along the length, his lips pressing once again to Jon's throat. “You don't really want me to stop,” he muttered between wet kisses. “You always played hard to get, Ned. But you always submit to me in the end.”

Jon shook his head even more frantically as the king pressed in even closer to him. “I'm not Ned!” he cried out, feeling hot tears start to slip down his cheeks. “I'm his bastard son, Jon Snow!”

The king stepped away then, and Jon felt a wave of relief wash over him. That is, until the king gripped his hips tightly and turned him roughly to face the wall. He pressed himself against the boy again heavily, trapping him against the stone wall. Jon felt his breath catch in his throat as he felt the man's hard length pressing against his bare backside. He brought his hands up and tried to shove himself away from the wall, silently cursing the king's massive girth. 

“Just relax, Ned,” the king's slurred voice whispered in Jon's ear. Large, rough hands kneaded at his pale ass in a strangely gentle manner. “You always forget to relax.”

Jon couldn't hold back a frightened whimper. “Please, Your Grace! Stop this!”

The hands faltered for a brief moment before sliding to grip Jon's hips again roughly and slamming him against the wall again. The boy gave a pained groan, another frightened whimper escaping his lips.

“Do not say no to me, Ned,” the king growled lowly in Jon's ear, one hand pinning the boy to the cold wall, the other pulling open his own breeches. Jon stiffened as he heard the king spit into his hand. “Not now. I told you that I need you. You can't say no. Not to your king.” With those words, he pressed forward roughly, slamming into the boy.

Jon cried out; the pain was excruciating. He felt like he was being split open and torn apart from the inside. He sobbed loudly as the king kept on moving, thrusting into him at a rapid pace. His own body was slamming painfully into the wall with every thrust; it was all he could do to brace himself against the wall.

Thankfully, it didn't last long before the king was spilling his seed inside of Jon. For a long moment the man didn't move. He just leaned heavily against the boy, panting heavily. Finally he pulled out; Jon could feel the king's seed spilling out and down his thighs, leaving a disgusting sticky trail. Jon didn't move except his shaking shoulders as sobs continued to spill from between his lips. He prayed to the old gods that the king was done and would leave him alone now. He didn't think his body would be able to handle anything more. 

For a change, his prayers were answered. The king just fixed his breeches and staggered off, probably back to the feast. Jon didn't care where the man went; he was just thankful that the man was gone. Slowly, hissing in pain, he pulled up his own breeches and made his way back to his own chambers. Ghost would eventually find his way back. Right now, Jon just needed to get himself cleaned up.


	5. Robert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think (I hope) that I may be getting my muse back for writing this story. I really hope so, anyway. I figured I could at the very least post the remaining chapters that I already have written. 
> 
> Rereading these next few chapters, I realized that I'm not very happy with them (especially chapter Seven). Therefore I may change them from the original version that is posted on my Fanfiction.Net account. Just in case anyone read it over there, and then notices the (possible) changes here. 
> 
> Other than that, please enjoy! :D

“Your Grace?”

King Robert Baratheon scowled into his substantial breakfast at the infuriating formality. “Damn it, Ned; it’s too early for civility. Just call me Robert like you used to and be done with it. There is no one of importance here to listen in.” He finally dropped his fork and lifted his gaze to his oldest friend, the scowl still on his face. “Well? Get in here and tell me what’s got you up and being so bloody formal this early in the morning.”

Ned Stark entered the king’s chambers and took a seat at the table across from Robert, the ghost of a smile skirting across his face. “It’s almost midday, Robert. I’ve ben awake since dawn. You, it appears, have slept in.”

The king let out a bark of laughter, the scowl dropping from his face. “I had a long night, Ned; probably much longer that yours. And I am the king of the Seven Kingdoms! I should be allowed to sleep in if I so desire.” He took a long, noisy swig from his cup of wine and gave a grin. “Speaking of last night though, I had a vision. I went outside to take a piss and saw you in the stables, but it was as though you were a young lad. No more than fifteen or sixteen! It certainly felt real, though!”

He was so certain that it had been a vision, even though he could still feel the warm body beneath him and taste the salty skin. He was so caught up in his remembrances, that he did not notice Ned’s startled look or brief pause. 

“What do you mean by that?” Ned asked carefully, his voice betraying no emotion. “What do you mean, it felt real?”

Robert snorted, not noticing Ned’s stiffness. “I mean the vision certainly felt like warm flesh when I touched it!”

This time the king noticed the other’s brief pause. 

“What are you thinking of?” he grumbled, taking another long swallow from his wine glass. “You always look too serious.”

Ned didn’t even crack a smile, his gaze focused on the king. “I wonder . . .” he mused for a moment, a barely discernable waver in his voice. “My . . . my bastard son, Jon, looks remarkably like I did all those years ago. Perhaps it was him you saw.”

It was Robert’s turn to pause, actually thinking back to the previous night’s encounter. The boy in the vision had said something about not being Ned . . . But everything from the night was a blur. “It’s possible,” he conceded gruffly, refilling his wine glass. “Now, what are you doing here?”

Ned ignored the question, replying with his own. “Robert, what did you do to my son last night?”

“Seven Hells, Ned! Don’t act like I hurt the boy!” Robert exploded, slamming his palm down onto the wooden table. “I didn’t do anything to your precious bastard!” It was a lie, but the king would die before admitting to the honourable Ned Stark that he may have fucked his protesting son.

“Robert . . .” Ned’s voice held a cold warning tone. 

“Ned,” the king replied, just as coldly. “I may have pushed him around a bit, thinking that he was you. I can’t remember. Now, what did you come here for?”

Ned stared hard at Robert, but the king stared right back, not willing to budge. As stubborn as the Starks could be, Robert Baratheon could be more so when it mattered to him. Finally Ned sighed, his whole body slumping.

“I came here to tell you . . .” Ned paused yet again and swallowed heavily. “I’ve decided to accept your offer. I would be honoured to be the Hand of the King, Your Grace.”

Robert broke into a huge grin and pushed himself to his feet, striding around the wooden table to drag Ned into a tight hug. “That’s great! What made you change your mind?”

“It is my duty to serve my king,” Ned replied solemnly, even as he hugged the king back.

“Dammit, Ned! I told you to stop being so damn formal!” Robert roared with laughter, squeezing the other man tightly. “I knew you would come around eventually! Of course, you’ll have to move down to King’s Landing. You’ll be bringing your family with you, I presume.”

Ned struggled to extract himself from the king’s grasp. “You’re partly right. Catelyn will stay here with Robb, to help him learn how to run the household. And Because Catelyn is staying, Rickon will stay as well. But the girls and Bran will be coming to King’s Landing with me.”

Robert finally released his friend, moving heavily back to the table to pour two glasses of wine. He pushed one towards Ned, his expression clearly telling him to drink. “And your bastard?” he asked, his voice clear of emotion. “Will he be staying here as well?”

It was then that Ned Stark came as close to snorting as he was able to. “No; Catelyn wouldn’t stand for that.”

“So you’re bringing him South.” It wasn’t a question; there wasn’t much else that Ned could do with the bastard, beyond warding him out to one of his bannermen. Though Robert was certain that most would be insulted with the task. 

He wasn’t entirely certain why he even cared where the bastard ended; he told himself it was residual guilt from what may have happened the previous night.

“Jon would not be welcome in the South,” Ned replied with a small sigh, finally lifting the glass to take a small sip of wine. “He will be going North with Benjen to the Wall.”

“The Wall?” Robert snorted incredulously. “The Wall is no place for a mere boy!”

“What would you have me do?” Ned shot back. “There is no place for a bastard in the King’s Court and he cannot stay here. Benjen has told me that Jon has expressed to him a desire to go North. It may be for the best.”

“Nonsense!” The king took a seat at the table, once more picking up his fork to eat. “The boy has barely experienced anything yet! You can’t send him to the Wall without experiencing life!”

“Cat will not have him here—“

“Then bring your bastard to King’s Landing!” Robert roared. “I’ll find something for him to do there!” He could already think of a few things that his friend’s pretty look-a-like bastard could do for him after last night. He should have been ashamed by the thoughts shifting through his head, but it was only a bastard. 

Ned shook his head. “I can’t—“ 

“Bring the boy South, Ned,” Robert cut in, his voice firm and final. He chose to ignore the voice in his head telling him this was a bad idea. “That is an order from your king.”

After all, the boy looked remarkably like a young Ned, and in turn, his Lyanna.


End file.
